FRANTASTIC

 I lost a great mentor and friend last week.  Her name is Fran Bascom.  I'll always think of Fran as an "is" never a "was".  I was shocked by the news.  Not that she had passed.  We all have an end game.  Fran was 87 and probably wasn't going to be casting too many more pilots.
 What shocked me was that it was reported that Fran died in her sleep.  That was not the Fran I knew.  I always thought that she would have passed at the Colony, the Odyssey, the Zephyr, or maybe at the Matrix.  Never in her sleep.  Why would Fran sleep? She had an equity waiver production of Balm and Gilead in Burbank that she needed to see.
 I have wonderful memories of Fran.  I have wonderful memories of Fran's hairstyle.  Whenever she got her hair done, for the first three days she always looked like Paul Revere.  She did.
 I always thought that I had first met Fran when I started in casting.  I later found out that she and daughter Cheryl used to live in a duplex on Camarillo.  The same duplex that my best friend from junior high lived in.  I had probably waved at Fran when I visited my ninth grade buddy.  Never knowing how important she would become later in my life.
 She helped me get my job as an online casting director for Columbia television.  She had the office right next to mine.  She was casting classy stuff like The First Olympics and a MOW on Robert Kennedy.  I, on the other hand, was casting the critically acclaimed T.J. Hooker.
 She would come into my office and show me an 8 by 10 of this actress she saw in a production of Much Ado About Nothing.  She would say that I had to meet her.  I would remind her that I was working on T.J. Hooker.  That I had a better chance of finding someone right for my show by walking into the 80's equivalent of Hooters than attending Shakespeare in the Park.  She would still insist that I meet her.  She would say that I wouldn't be casting that fluff forever.  That is how I met some wonderful actresses back then even though they weren't right for my co-ed skateboarding victim in my next episode.
 Fran and I went to a few theater productions together.  Once you committed to Fran you could never back away from that obligation.  No matter what else came up.  It would be like taking a donation back from Mother Teresa.
 This is an example of what might have happened back then.  I would get a call from a friend saying that he had just gotten two courtside seats to tonight's Laker game.  He wanted me to join him.  I mumbled something to him that he couldn't understand.  He asked me again.  Once more I mumbled.  He was getting annoyed.  Finally I blurted out, "I can't go to the game because I'm going with Fran Bascom to see The Owl and the Pussycat" in La Crescenta."  No wonder people were rolling their eyes when I finally got married.
  I mentioned the other day on facebook that Fran was the most supportive person ever to be in show business.  That when she got in your corner there was not a better fighter for you on this planet.  One of those folks that Fran was over the moon about was Jean Smart.  She kept yelling at me to bring in Jean for T.J. Hooker.  I would tell Fran that if she really cared about Jean's career she shouldn't be pushing for me to bring her in.
 She felt so strongly about Jean, that if you were casting the Jackie Robinson Story, Fran would be adamant about you getting in Jean.  Not for the role of Rachel Robinson, but for the role of Jackie Robinson.  That was Fran.
 Her casting career has not ended.  Right now she is up in heaven with her agent buddy Dick Lovell.  He is pitching his clients to play the saints in an upcoming pearly gate production.  As usual, Fran is telling Dick who is right and who is wrong.  She did that in a nice way as she always did.
 I have always been asked as to what was the best thing about my 30 year casting career.  I always respond that it was meeting my wife.  My wife usually responds that the best part of her casting career was casting 21 Jump Street.  If I had a #2 best thing that happened to me in casting, without a doubt it would be knowing Fran Bascom.
 She was a Mom to many of us.  The counseling.  The encouragement.  All natural tools for Fran.  We supported our "Mom" when she tragically lost her daughter.  We will support her again this Friday at her services.  Fran would have been there but she is seeing a high school production of The Producers in Chatsworth.
 Finally, if you looked up casting director in the dictionary it would read see Fran Bascom.  RIP.

I WISH I HAD AN EPIPHANY

 About a month ago I had an episode.  Not a regular season episode.  One of those sweeps week's episodes.  You know that special episode that is meant to garner bigger ratings.  The one where the Big Bang's Sheldon has a dream that he meets Albert Einstein played by Dustin Hoffman.  Mike and Molly guest on Biggest Losers.  Steve Buscemi gets a make over.  Those once a year episodes.
 I had minor surgery on January 25th.  Holy misnomer!  There is no such thing as "minor surgery".  Once the guy that used to sit next to you and cheat off your exam in biology class starts cutting - anything could happen.
 There are certain words that should never be paired together.  Like; subtle Michael Bolton.  Tame cheetah.  Coherent Sean Hannity.  Minor surgery falls into that same category.
 Anyway, the surgery went fine.  Some repairs that needed to be taken care of.  The staff at Cedars Sinai were up to their old tricks.  Charging $95 for a Snickers bar.  Asking you every five minutes for your Mother's maiden name.   Plus, seeing if they could enlist your help in getting their Aunt out of the Philippines.  Other than the bill for visitor parking, the stay at the hospital was uneventful.
 Came home and everything was fine.  I was able to mix pain meds with wine.  Had an excuse to wear sweat pants every day.  Watched Rick Steves in Belgium and still couldn't believe that he actually had a wife.  Everything was fine.
 Then it happened.  The opening credits of the episode.  It was the day after the Super Bowl and I was still wondering why Harbaugh didn't run the ball when he was at the three yard line when I noticed something that didn't seem quite right.  Something red in color.  Something red in color that should have stayed in my body.   I was suffering blood loss.
 It was about 8:00 at night and I felt like me except for the red donation I was making.  I called my surgeon and he said if it got worse to go to the emergency room.  Didn't want to do that.  Couldn't miss this week's 'The Following'.  I'll be ok."
 Two hours later not so "ok".  I passed out in the bathroom and hit my head.  The wife saw me on the floor.  She said that I was making about as much sense as a NRA official trying to justify magazine capacity on an assault rifle.  She called the paramedics.
 They were there almost immediately.  My cat went up to them and said, "do something!"  My first thought upon seeing the paramedics was that if I was still a casting director at least one of the paramedics would have been a latino or asian.
 They asked me if I could get up and I said that I had low "t".  They picked me up and put me on a gurney and rolled me outside.  I was sure that a couple of the annoying neighbors that I had, were applauding.  Wasn't positive, but was pretty sure.
 In to the ambulance I went.  Stuff started to be hooked up to me.  At first I had the thoughts of "not now", "too soon", "I want to live"  Then I glanced up at the inside of the roof of the ambulance and noticed a couple of the bulbs were flickering.  On the one hand I wanted to say more oxygen and on the other hand I wanted to say can't you do something about that annoying "flickering".
 We took off for the short ride to the emergency room.  The oxygen was not giving me a high but I was becoming more stable.  A lot of thoughts filled my brain.  Not - I should have climbed Mount Everest.  Or - If I hadn't have been so goofy maybe Madeline Stowe would have liked me more.  My first thought was wondering whether my insurance was going to cover my ambulance ride and these four non-latino paramedics.  I even thought that I didn't really need this to happen for me to know how much I love my wife.  I already knew how much I loved my wife.  I did think that I was letting my Grandmother down because I was not wearing the cleanest of underwear.  She always said...
 We arrive at the hospital and I am wheeled in.  No one came running to the gurney yelling "stat".  I found that comforting.  No paddles were going to be used.  Although there was this cute nurse where paddles could have come in handy.
 My gurney came to a stop.  The first words out of my mouth were, "Well, I guess now I have met my deductible."  One of the oder nurses laughed as she played pin the tail  on the IV with my left arm.
 My surgeon showed up.  This was great I thought.  Then I pondered, "It was 10:30 at night.  How many glasses of wine had he had?" Then I remembered that a drunken Denzel had landed a plane.  My doc should be able to help me.
 Everything calmed down.  I was going to be around for a while.  The wife came in and sweetly said, "You scared the hell out of me.  Don't do that again.  I could never find anyone like you.  Someone that continually cuts me off and never lets me finish a sentence."
 Two of my friends showed up.  One came in and I told him that he was the Scarecrow and there were all these little people named munchkins.  The surgeon then thought it best that I get some rest.  I said that I hadn't gotten to the part about the ruby slippers.
 I didn't sleep much that night but was well enough to be released that next mid morning.  I wouldn't welcome the episode that I had just had on anybody.  Maybe Ted Nugent.  Nah, not even Ted.  I wish that I could say that I had had a great epiphany.  Something life changing.  "You know, from now on..."
 What I discovered is that I didn't need any of that kind of faux boost.  My life was pretty damn good.  I  have the best wife in the world, a cat that sticks to me like Velcro, a Prius that is almost paid for,  and wine and pain meds within arm's reach.  Priceless.